


A Pinesmas Carol

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Flipside AU [6]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chrismukkah, Christmas Fluff, Dark mentions of violence and torture, Epic Bromance, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jewish Pines family (mentioned), Panic Attacks, Pines Family Bonding, Protective Ford Pines, Protective Shermie Pines, References to trafficking, Shermie is the older brother, Stan's past catches up to him, with some additional trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22359949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: Shermie invites his brothers to come spend Christmas/Hanukkah with him and his family down in Piedmont, California.This mostly goes well...except for the tiny problem of Stan's past catching up with him and being a threat to everyone he loves most in the world.  But you know, for the Pines family that's kind of normal, no matter what dimension they're from.Yet another story in the Flipside AU that I'm making up as I go.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Sherman "Shermie" Pines & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Sherman "Shermie" Pines & Stan Pines, Sherman "Shermie" Pines/Original Character(s)
Series: Flipside AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587223
Comments: 80
Kudos: 239





	1. Receiving the Call

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Alex Hirsch decided to make the first generation of the Pines family Jewish; unfortunately I am not Jewish, so my experience with Hanukkah is going to be mostly limited to what I can scrounge off the Internet, unless any kind souls are willing to offer me input. That's supposed to be only sort of blatantly fishing for help, by the way.
> 
> Either way, enjoy.

Halloween had been fun that year; several groups of children had showed up daring each other to knock on the “creepy mad scientist’s” door, and Ford had only worried a little bit about it being ethical before joining Stan in scaring the everloving snot out of them. Being mostly-identical twins had proven an advantage in this area, as it provided multiple opportunities for one of them to answer the door, while the other sneaked around to surprise their visitors from behind, and similar scare pranks. And after trick-or-treating was over for the night the two men gave in to their inner teenagers and had a scary movie marathon while eating all the Halloween candy they hadn’t been forced to give away.

Thanksgiving was pretty good too; they’d been invited to a feast organized by the manotaurs, which included roasted wild turducken that still made Stan’s mouth water just remembering how it had tasted in his mouth. Even the multi-bear had been allowed to come, and the manotaurs had kept their snide comments on his taste in music to a minimum in the spirit of the holiday. Ford had enjoyed making copious notes and observations on all the creatures that were at the gathering, and Stan had enjoyed having a foosball tournament with all of them (taking bets on who would win, of course).

Before they knew it, it was almost December and Gravity Falls was covered in snow, which meant that the tours had to be limited to once a week. It helped that a lot of supernatural creatures (at least the local kind) were in hibernation right now so they weren’t coming on tours anyway, but there were days when Stan would take a group of yetis or snow demons or something into town to ooh and aah over the human stuff. Otherwise they mostly stayed inside their house, sheltered from the cold (Stan in particular enjoying the chance to be as warm as he wanted), and both of them feeling something that they hadn’t in a long time: peaceful.

* * *

It was almost noon, and Stan had seen no reason to get out of bed yet. He lay burrowed in his blankets, in that dreamy state that’s somewhere between sleepiness and wakefulness, much quieter than his usual boisterous self.

Ford had actually checked on him several times to make sure that he wasn’t sick, but he’d reassured him that he was just feeling lazy today.

Eventually he grabbed up a comic from the bedside table and propped himself up on one elbow to read it; he’d redeveloped his enjoyment of them, and was catching up as much as he could.

He’d just turned to a fresh page, when he heard a knock at the door.

Instantly part of Stan tensed, and his heart jumped a bit in his chest.

_Calm down, it’s probably just Ford. There’s no reason to get like this, it’s not like it’s gonna be-anyone else._

Even so, he lifted his knuckle dusters and slid them onto one hand, tucking it under the covers, and offered a tentative, “Hello?”

The door opened-and it was Ford after all. Stan let out a soft exhale, and the knuckles slid off.

“How’s it hangin’?” he asked, looking back down at his comic.

“Fine, fine.” Ford leaned against the doorway. “I just got off the phone with Shermie.”

Stan tensed again-for somewhat different reasons.

“Yeah?”

Ford nodded, cleared his throat. “He invited us to come to Piedmont for the holidays.”

Stan blinked. “...Both of us?”

“You seen anyone else living in this house?” An eyebrow raised. “He specifically asked me to convince you to come.”

“How’d he know I’m here? Did you tell him?” Stan tried not to sound accusing; he didn’t mind if Shermie knew, but as he was asking he realized the question could come off that way.

Ford looked exasperated anyway. “I didn’t have to, Stanley. Mom did. But I explained our situation to him, and he says Mom and Dad aren’t coming until the 21st, so we wouldn’t have to overlap with their visit at all. If you wanted to go.”

Stan sat up all the way at last, and considered the idea. He’d never been as close to Shermie as he’d been to Ford (obviously)...but he did like their big brother, even if he could be kind of a dork about things like wearing bow ties on fancy occasions. Which was totally different from Stan wearing a bow tie while giving tours because that was for work. Ergo it was different.

Plus it meant a chance to see his nephew, who he hadn’t been around since he was just an infant…And he wouldn’t have to see Pa if they kept their timing right...

Realizing that Ford was still waiting on an answer, he shrugged.

“Sure, why not. I haven’t been banned from California yet.”

Ford looked perturbed at the last part, but nodded.

“Great! I’ll let him know.” And he closed the door after him.

Stan lay back down...but put aside the comic. He had something to actually think about now: namely, presents for his brother’s family.


	2. Life is a Highway

Since Hanukkah started December 4th that year (even though Shermie’s wife wasn’t Jewish, and Shermie himself wasn’t that devout in the faith, they’d combined traditions, celebrating a little bit of Hanukkah and a little bit of Christmas), the boys wasted no time in arranging their trip. Just in case, they set up some extra wards around the house to protect it from the elements and anyone-supernatural or mundane-who might want to break into it, before packing up Stan’s car and heading off to California. It would take about eight hours to get there, not counting the traffic, so they agreed to take turns driving, and got started before the crack of dawn on December 2nd.

Stan drove first, so Ford read a book until he started getting queasy from his inner ear and his eyes disagreeing with each other; he quickly closed the book and leaned back in his chair, because even though he knew Stan’s threats about vicious retribution if he threw up in the car were (probably) empty, he still wanted to avoid that situation if he possibly could. And to Ford’s surprise, he ended up falling asleep, lulled by the thrumming of the engine.

He only woke up when they stopped for gas about an hour later. His neck had a crick in it from sleeping in such an awkward position, and he tried ineffectively to blink away his grogginess.

“Where are we?” he asked as Stan climbed back into the car.

“Still in Oregon.”

“You need me to drive now?”

“Nah, think it’s better if we wait until you’re fully awake,” Stan pointed out. “Don’t wanna die in a car crash this close ta the holidays.”

“Is there a good time of year to die in a car crash?” Ford asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah-when the IRS is on your tail.”

“Ha, ha.”

“It’s a shame Piedmont and Palo Alto aren’t closer together,” Ford commented after a while, when some of the fog had cleared from his brain. “We could go visit my friend Fiddleford.”

Stan glanced over at him. “Your what?”

“...My friend. From college.”

“Okay, first I learn that you’ve dated someone, and _now_ you’re tellin’ me that you have a college buddy?” Stan’s face split into his widest pumpkin grin. “Stanford! I’m so _proud_ of you!”

“Watch the road!!”

Just in time Stan turned his head back around, and (possibly by skidding the car on two wheels for a few seconds) managed to avoid a collision with a semi. He swore creatively, but got back into the rhythm of the freeway.

“...You okay?” he asked after a minute.

“I’m still waiting for my heart rate to go down to normal levels.”

“Sorry.”

* * *

“So, tell me about your friend,” Stan finally said when they’d both had a chance to calm down.

“His name’s Fiddleford McGucket.” Ford readjusted his glasses.

Stan’s forehead wrinkled. “Where’s he from with a name like that? Lithuania?”

“Tennessee, Stanley.”

“Eh, close enough. What’s he like?”

Ford reminisced on some of his adventures with Fiddleford at Backupsmore, including an incident with a robot they had built together going rogue, which would have gotten them expelled if anyone had found out it was their creation before the police managed to shoot it down. Stan nearly busted a gut cackling at that one, and looked like he wanted to slap his knee but remembered that he was driving this time.

“He sounds _awesome_!”

Ford smiled. “Yes, he was. He got married soon after college; I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a kid by now.”

“...You wanna drop in on them after we leave Shermie’s? Might be good for ya to have someone you could talk to about nerd stuff for a couple days.”

Ford’s smile faded. “I-I don’t want to impose, and besides, I’m sure he’s busy with his work.”

“He’s not _you_ , Sixer. Sounds like he enjoys making time for other people.”

“Hey!”

Stan snickered, but then said more seriously, “At least think about it. As long as we’re down this way, we could just drive down and say hi. You can consider me wasting the gas as your present from me.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Stanley.”

* * *

Eventually, Ford took his turn at the wheel. Stan fell asleep almost as soon as he settled into the passenger seat, snoring loud enough to make the windows rattle. But it made sense for him to be that comfortable sleeping in his car; apparently he’d had to do that a lot…

Even though Stan had assured him multiple times that he didn’t have to keep apologizing for that, Ford’s stomach twisted. To distract his thoughts, he began changing channels on the radio, trying to find something that wasn’t schmaltzy Christmas music.

Aside from those incidents and a very slippery patch of freeway they were forced to drive through, the trip was mostly uneventful, until at last they were pulling up outside of Shermie’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys can't even go on a simple holiday without facing possible impending death, huh?  
> Being a Pines is like being a Viking: it's an occupational hazard.
> 
> And we wouldn't have them any other way.


	3. Another family reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might give you a few cavities. In the best possible way.  
> It's definitely not the calm before the storm of impending doom or anything.  
> Honest.

It was a bigger house than Stan was expecting, and very nice-looking, painted a comfortable dark green that reminded him a little of the trees back...back home.

Ford, who had taken the last turn driving, turned off the ignition, but for a minute Stan made no move to get out of the car. His big hands felt clammy, and he began to wish he hadn’t eaten that breakfast burrito earlier because it felt like it was about to come back up-

A warm hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it.

“Come on,” Ford said softly, “Let’s go see everyone.”

Even though he felt a little reassured, Stan allowed Ford to take the lead, after they retrieved their bags, in going up the steps to the door and ringing the bell.

There was the sound of feet pounding, and suddenly Shermie was there and pulling Ford into a hug that combined some affectionate noogying and scolding that it was “about time you came to visit, you knucklehead!”

Stan and Ford were both on the tall side-they’d probably be the same height if Stan didn’t slouch so much-but Shermie was HUGE. The top of his head was literally brushing against the doorframe, and his shoulders seemed broader than they were the last time Stan had seen him. His hair was still cut shorter than theirs, and Stan was alarmed to see that it was going gray at the temples...but it was still Shermie standing there.

Shermie finally released Ford-and his jaw dropped when he saw Stan behind them.

Stan raised his hand, waved sheepishly.

“Hey Sherm-waugh!”

Shermie thundered down the steps and pulled him into a hug that literally lifted him off his feet.

“Ugh-Shermie-need air-release me-” Stan tried ineffectively to squirm loose.

“ _ No _ ,” Shermie growled, only loosening his grip a tiny bit. “Because if I do that I might try to strangle you.”

“...What’d I ever do ta you?” Stan asked, looking over his brother’s shoulder to his twin. Ford gave him an equally confused shrug.

“Besides disappear for five years and make me worry myself sick wondering what happened to you? Oh, not much.” Shermie at least allowed Stan’s feet to touch the ground again, but without releasing him.

Stan stared down at his brother’s sweater so he could avoid his eyes; it was dark green, with a cabled Star of David and a Christmas wreath interposed over each other, and the words “Celebrate ALL the good times!” underneath in gold. It might have looked kind of tacky if it hadn’t been surprisingly well-knitted.

_ Probably Rebecca’s work. _

“I’d gotten the message that I wasn’t wanted in the family until I’d made a fortune.” As soon as the words left his mouth he groaned inside; great, now he was gonna make both his brothers feel bad, and this wasn’t the time of year for stuff like that-

“For cripes’ sake, Stan!” Shermie pushed him back, gripping his shoulders and shaking him a little.

_ What is it with these guys and feelin’ the need ta shake me every time I say something that upsets them? _

“Look at me,” Shermie ordered.

Stan lifted his head enough to indicate that he was listening, though still not meeting his eyes.

Shermie sighed. “I guess I need to say this straight out so you’ll understand it, because I somehow haven’t made it clear to you before: You. Are. My. Brother. I  _ care _ about you, no matter what Pa said or did. And if you ever disappear like that again I will personally hire a private investigator to track you down, even if I have to dip into Xander’s college fund to pay him.”

Stan’s shoulders hunched up almost around his ears. “You don’t have ta-”

“Not if you don’t disappear I don’t.” With that, Shermie slung his arm around his shoulders and towed him towards the house, snatching Ford under his other arm on the way.

* * *

“Speak of the devil, where is Xander?” Stan asked, looking around the house. It was still in the process of being decorated for the holidays, he noticed; boxes of blue and white decorations were in the living room, and an unlit menorah sat on one of the tables next to the sofa. There was also plenty of evidence that a five-year-old boy lived there: toys were scattered helter-skelter, a children’s book was lying open on the sofa, an assortment of dirty dishes had been left next to the sink by parents who were too exhausted by other responsibilities to clean them up right then and there. The only thing missing was the actual five-year-old boy. And the boy’s mother, come to think of it.

“He and Rebecca are at the store getting some last-minute shopping done,” Shermie explained, taking their bags for them. “You guys hungry? We made brisket for lunch and there’s a lot left over.”

“Sure.”

While they ate, Shermie asked them questions about what Gravity Falls was like and what they were doing there.

They’d put a lot of thought into how to answer this in the days before and during the car trip. Because on the one hand, Shermie was on the whole a pretty chill, open-minded guy, so it was possible that he would believe them if they told him about their work with the supernatural. On the other hand, it might be better to do it if he came to their town in person, so he could see some absolutely incontestable proof; they could always have brought something from Gravity Falls to show him, but that created other potential dangers…

In the end they just told Shermie that Ford was studying different kinds of anomalies, keeping the details somewhat vague without making it seem too much like they were hiding something, and that Stan was working as a tour guide.

“I thought it was kind of a small town,” Shermie said with raised eyebrows when he heard the last part.

“Yeah, but there’s pretty interesting stuff if you know where to look for it,” Stan countered smoothly.

“Huh. We’ll have to come up and see it during the summer or something.” Then he seemed to hear his own words, and added hesitantly, “...If that’s all right.”

Stan looked over at Ford, deferring to him; he certainly liked the idea of Shermie and his family coming to visit, but it was  _ Ford’s _ house. It wasn’t up to him.

Ford toyed with his fork for a second, before smiling at him. “That sounds great.”

Just as Stan finished cleaning the extra sauce from his plate with his bread, a door in another part of the house opened, and they heard voices, along with the rustling of grocery bags.

“I wanna carry it! I wanna carry it!”

“No, I told you, it’s too heavy for-! Alexander Hershel Pines, let go!”

Stan looked at Shermie with a raised eyebrow. “Hershel?”

“It wasn’t my idea!” Shermie protested. He stood up and left the kitchen, presumably to offer his wife some much-needed assistance.

Stan felt his nervousness rise up again. Rebecca had always been nice enough to him, and when she met Ford for the first time she’d complimented his hands, endearing her to both of them forever...but it had still been a long time since they’d met. And he hadn’t been a gross, greasy mullet-head criminal-

No. No, he wasn’t like that anymore. He showered on a regular basis now, he’d lost the mullet, he was clean and semi-respectable and maybe kind-of sort-of worth something to these people. He still had to unclench his hand from around his fork as his sister-and-law and nephew came into the kitchen.

When the little boy saw them, he froze, eyes widening...and then darted behind his mother’s legs.

“Xander,” Rebecca sighed in a voice of fond exasperation as she put her bags on the counter, “those are Daddy’s brothers. Remember, I told you they were coming today? You remember Uncle Ford, at least.”

Xander didn’t speak; he just peered around her at them, eyes wide and brown.

Stan waved at him, and smiled. “Hey.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ford curling his hands, hiding his fingers, and sighed inwardly. Even if it was kind of refreshing to see that he wasn’t the only one having insecurities about this.

“And that’s your other uncle, Stanley.” Rebecca beamed at Stan, and came over to give him a hug as he stood up. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

“Heh. No problem.” The words came out awkwardly, but she didn’t seem to mind as she hugged Ford next and tried to encourage Xander to say hi to his uncles.

It turned out that the guest room had two beds in it, so both of them were being put up in there.

“Heh, if these were bunk beds it’d be like the pawnshop,” Stan said, dropping his bag onto the bed he’d claimed, which was right by the window (old instinct of needing a possible escape route).

“Except better,” Ford replied.

“...Yeah, I guess so.” Stan flopped onto the bed to try it out. “Mmm, nice mattress. Real soft.”

Ford snorted.

“What? It is.” He gave an exaggerated stretch, squashing his face into the pillow.

“You’re a goof.”

“Whatever.”

* * *

They went back downstairs soon enough; Ford offered to help Rebecca with dinner, and despite warning her that she might regret letting a guy who put dangerous chemicals in the fridge on a regular business hang around the food, Stan instead helped Shermie and Xander with putting up decorations.

“So what’re you even calling this whole shindig?” Stan asked as he wound a string of blue and white lights around the banister. “Chrismukkah?”

“Yes, actually!” Shermie said with a grin. “There’s plenty of other people who celebrate it too.”

Stan blinked. “I had no idea that was a thing.”

“Yup.” Shermie helped his son uncoil more lights and hand them to Stan. “Okay, try plugging them in and see how it looks.”

It looked all right to Stan, but Shermie frowned and unwound them to tighten up a section that he thought was a little too loose. And then he repeated the process two more times before finally declaring he was satisfied, leaving Stan rolling his eyes and singing to himself about sitting here like birds in the wilderness.

And to his surprise and delight, Xander giggled at the song, and gave him a shy smile.

Stan grinned back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chrismukkah really IS a thing, believe it or not!  
> I found it on Wikipedia, so it must be real.


	4. Truth is averted by trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been to Piedmont; I apologize for any misrepresentation that might ensue.

In Ford’s experience with children who were between the ages of two and six, most of your time with them was spent saying, “Put that down!” or “Don’t touch that!” or “Go to your room until you can behave!”

Admittedly, he had not spent a lot of time with children of any age since going to college, but from what he saw of other people who interacted with children he had assumed that was the gist of it. However, once Xander warmed up to his uncles Ford was reminded that there was much more involved.

Mainly this came from watching the boy’s interaction with Stan. Once the house was decorated and dinner eaten, Xander immediately grabbed Stan’s hand and tugged him into the living room, asking for him to read his favorite book. Stan only put up a token resistance before making himself comfortable on the sofa, with the kid tucked in his lap, and began reading _Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile_ , complete with voices and occasional dry commentary on the cheesier sections, which made Xander giggle even as he protested that “that’s not what it says, Uncle Stan!”

Ford, feeling that he should be doing something to pull his weight around here, offered to wash the dishes; Rebecca was more than happy to allow this, turning to Shermie and commenting dryly that he could learn a lot from his little brother. Shermie just rolled his eyes and kissed her on the cheek, before they went and joined Stan and Xander in the living room.

By the time Ford had finished washing the dishes and stacking them in the drying rack the counter was damp with water and soap suds, so of course he had to clean that up, and then he wiped down the table and swept the floor, especially getting the spot where Xander had sat because he’d spilled quite a bit of food there. It was far more fervor than he ever showed in cleaning up back home, but it seemed only fair to make things a little easier for their hosts when they were having to feed and take care of two extra people.

He was startled out of his examination of the garbage disposal (and his thoughts on possibly making a few improvements to it as one of his presents to the family) by Stan’s voice saying, “Oi, Poindexter, someone wants ta say goodnight!”

Ford whirled around and saw Stan there, holding Xander’s hand and looking at him expectantly. He blinked.

“Oh. Um.” The hand that was within their line of sight started to slide into his pocket.

But then, unexpectedly, Xander rushed up to him and grabbed it.

Ford tried to jerk away at once, but the boy had a surprisingly tight grip. He examined Ford’s hand, tapping each of his fingers once, then twice, mouth moving quietly and little forehead scrunched up in concentration. Then at last he looked up at Ford, and said with a delighted smile, “You _do_ have six fingers!”

Ford gave a slow nod. “That is indeed the case.”

Xander finally let go, and held up his own hand. “High six?”

He glanced over his shoulder at Stan, with a ‘Did I do that right?’ expression. Stan gave him an approving nod.

Ford, who to his surprise had acquired something in his eye for a second, tapped his hand lightly against the boy’s. “High six.”

Xander grinned, and finally allowed his mother to come and shoo him off to bed.

* * *

“So,” Stan asked when it was just grown-ups, “anyone up for some poker?” He produced a deck of cards with a grin.

Ford gave him a disapproving look. “Is that your marked set?”

Stan quickly closed his hand over the cards. “What are you, a cop?”

“Stanley, shame on you!” Rebecca put her hands on her hips.

“...I was only gonna suggest playin’ for _gelt_.”

“We have our own cards, if you don’t mind.” Shermie went to retrieve them.

Even without using rigged cards, Stan was still the champion of the poker table. As they played, they talked, filling Rebecca in on what life in Gravity Falls was like for them (still using the abbreviated version), and discussing what their plans were for their stay here. Shermie hadn’t planned on their doing anything big, just sticking around the house and catching up for the most part, but Xander had wanted to go see the lights on Oakland Avenue tomorrow; would they be okay with that?

Neither of them objected, so after the final hand they retired for the night.

After changing into pajamas, Ford tucked himself into bed-Stan was right, these were quite comfortable-and tried to adjust himself to the new environment.

It was strange to hear the sound of cars driving by on the street below, and see lights through the window. Not to mention there was no snow down here in California, and no need to worry about gnomes rooting around in the trash cans. All the sounds were wrong.

Even though the bed was perfectly soft, for a while Ford was unable to sleep, trying to adjust to this change in nighttime sounds.

And then Stan started snoring.

Contrary to what you might expect, the noise was actually...very comforting, in a way Ford hadn’t been expecting.

It was loud, yes, and rumbled in a way that made him surprised it wasn’t rattling the window the way it had the car’s windows on the way here. But it was also familiar, and reminded him of falling asleep to the noise for years in high school, so before he knew it his eyes were drooping and his thoughts turning to snowdrop glorgle murg zzzzzzz…

* * *

He woke up before Stan-situation normal. What was less normal was that it was at least an hour after sunrise, and he was actually feeling like he’d gotten a full eight hours. But hey, it was a holiday season-he’d allow it.

With a yawn Ford got up and headed for the bathroom to wash and dress; when he came back in, though, Stan was still asleep. And when he saw him, an unusual spark of mischief rose up in his heart, so he came and crouched down next to his brother’s bed.

“Stan-ley…”

“Mmph.”

“Stannn-leyyy...”

“MMMPH.”

“Stanley, I think I locked the keys in the car by accident.”

“Wha-?!” Stan’s eyes flew open, squinting blearily at the morning light.

Ford smirked at him.

“Knew that’d wake you up.”

Stan growled something unprintable and smacked him with the extra pillow that beds in guest rooms always seemed to feel a bizarre need to have, before twisting onto his side. “Go ‘way Sixer ‘fore I kill you.”

“We have plans today, remember?” Ford made no move to leave his twin’s bedside. “C’mon, get up-Xander’s probably waiting on us.”

“Rrrr. Usin’ my own nephew against me-that’s low, even for you.” But Stan twisted and sat up, scratching his chest and stomach, and finally slid out from under the covers.

Xander was indeed waiting; he was already wearing his bright red jacket, and as the grown-ups finished breakfast, he seemed to practically teleport from place to place in his excitement.

Once they were outside, Stan asked, “Wanna ride on my shoulders, kid?”

“Yeah!” At once he was standing in front of Stan with his arms held out. It required a little more maneuvering than that, but soon he was perched on Stan’s shoulders, and Stan was stomping down the street with his legs and arms stiff, and saying in a robotic voice, “FEAR US, HUMANS. WE ARE HERE TO DESTROY ALL IN OUR PATH. BEEP BOOP,” while Xander held onto his head and squealed with laughter.

“Stan! You’re going the wrong way! Oakland is this way!” Shermie called after him.

Stan paused for a second, then turned and robot-walked towards them.

“I. KNEW. THAT.”

Ford rolled his eyes.

* * *

The lights weren’t the most fancy decorations ever, but Xander loved them. He and Stan chattered happily to each other as they walked, looking in the windows at the merchandise and pointing out their favorite things. Ford hoped Stan wouldn’t try to steal anything, and turned his attention to Shermie and Rebecca, who were walking hand in hand.

He tried to think of an acceptable topic of conversation. They’d already discussed his and Stan’s work last night, and asking how Shermie’s family was doing was a little idiotic under the circumstances. That left...um…

He was still searching for something when Shermie asked, “So, you wanna tell us how it happened?”

Ford blinked. “Huh?”

“You and Stan didn’t communicate with each other for five years, and suddenly you’re sharing a house and from what I can see you’re both happy again. There’s gotta be a story about that.”

Ford felt his stomach churn. “I thought Mom talked to you.”

“Yeah, and she says she doesn’t fully understand what happened, she’s just glad you two have stopped fighting.”

 _Crap. Crap crap CRAP._ Ford felt his palms starting to sweat. “It’s...complicated.”

Now they were both looking at him with interest and that was making it so much _worse_ , how exactly did he explain that Stan had been told by a fortune-teller that he, Ford, was going to destroy the world by making friends with an evil yellow triangle if Stan didn’t make up with him without sounding like he was describing an elaborate television show for kids or something?

“I-um-”

Suddenly, Stan and Xander were by their sides, and Stan was handing the boy off to his parents with a “Sorry, kid, but I gotta put you down; my shoulders are killin’ me.”

Ford breathed a small sigh of relief...until he saw the look on Stan’s face.

His eyes looked frightened-not like they were when they got that call from Ma, and it was just not wanting to deal with her wrath, like a _real_ , genuinely worried about something big kind of frightened. He was trying to act casual, but his shoulders were ducked down, and it almost felt like he was trying to hide behind Ford, which completely upset the normal paradigm.

“Everything okay?” Ford asked, looking at his brother.

“Yes. No. Maybe.” Stan’s words were clipped, but soft-Shermie and Rebecca were busy talking to their son about something, so for the moment their conversation was going unnoticed. “It depends.”

“...On what?” Ford’s inner radar was blaring louder by the second.

“I...I think I saw someone in one o’ the shops who could be trouble. And he might not’ve seen me, but I’m not sure, and if he did we’re screwed if he figures out where we’re living right now, so just remain calm and don’t go drawing any attention.” His eyes darted around, scanning the groups of people out and about right now. “And hope he didn’t bring the rest of the gang here.”

“What’s he look like?” Ford kept his voice as soft as Stan’s.

“Kind of a big guy, blond, wearing a jean jacket over a black shirt. He calls himself Archer. And he doesn’t like me much.”

“ _How_ much?” Ford didn’t see anyone matching that description, but right now that didn’t prove anything.

Stan grimaced. “...Not here. When we get home.”

“When we get home what?” Shermie asked.

Both of them winced.

Their brother frowned. “Guys? What’s the matter?”

“...It’s a long story,” Stan said. “But we should probably go home soon, as calmly and normally as possible.”

 _So much for a nice, peaceful vacation_ , Ford thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully Xander won't be too disappointed.


	5. A pretty messed-up memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains implied references to trafficking, and blatant references to torture and attempted murder, though hopefully without getting too squicky about any of them.

Xander was disappointed when they left the downtown early. But Stan placated him somewhat by carrying him on his shoulders again, and when they got home Rebecca took him off to play in the living room, while the men sat down at the kitchen table so Stan could explain.

He stared down at his hands, feeling his stomach sink with the knowledge that this all had to come out in front of them, including multiple revelations he wasn’t proud of. But keeping his family safe outweighed his dignity every time.

“...It all happened about two or three years ago. I was in Iowa, tryin’ ta get some business dredged up for these things called Stan-Vacs. Not one of my better sales. But one night I ran inta this group-” his hands clenched a little- “and Archer was the guy in charge. I needed money badly, and he said he’d give me some if I did a job for them, no questions asked.

“They needed help with, um, secretly moving some crates from one state to another, which they said were full o’ just a bunch of animals. Rare, exotic kind, who were gonna be bought by some collectors. And I figured, what the heck, they’re not gonna eat ‘em or kill ‘em, they just wanna keep ‘em in their menageries or whatever, so what’s the harm?

“So I took the job. I went ta the warehouse where the crates were bein’ kept, and helped load them onto a truck. But…” He closed his eyes for a second. “I heard something in one of the crates make a noise. And I peeked inside, cuz it didn’t sound quite right...and it turned out that they weren’t animals.”

He let that sink in for his brothers, hoping he didn’t need to elaborate that much. Xander let out a peal of laughter in the living room, and he inadvertently flinched.

“Oh my g_d,” Shermie whispered, recognizing the implications for what they were.

“Yeah.” His gaze remained fixed on the table, studying the mixture of light and dark grains in the wood, not wanting to see their potential disgust at him for getting himself mixed up with that kind of people.

After a moment he went on, “I-I volunteered ta drive the truck to the drop off spot...but when I was outta sight, I drove to a few blocks from a homeless shelter instead. Then I opened the crates, and let the kids out, and told ‘em where ta go ta get help.

“I tried ta make it look like they’d broken out on their own, and then drove back to where I’d left my car, planning to get as far away as possible...but they found me. And Archer figured out what I’d done.”

“What did he do?” Ford asked. His voice sounded like he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know, but he was making himself ask anyway.

Stan huddled in on himself even more. “Nothing too-”

“ _ What _ .”

It had been a long time since Stan heard that level of rage in Ford’s voice. And while it was nice that it wasn’t directed at him...it was still creepy.

He hesitated, and decided it would be easier to just show them.

So he stood up, pushing back his chair, and hiked up the side of his shirt.

“This.”

Shermie and Ford both gasped, and Stan was guessing that it wasn’t at the amount of hair he’d managed to accumulate as he got older.

No, it was probably at the jagged white scar running along his gut.

Stan lowered his shirt. “But hey, it could’ve gone a lot worse…”

* * *

**_Flashback flashback flashback flashback_ **

Stan was beginning to realize that getting involved with Archer had been a mistake.

Mainly because he was chained up and dangling by his ankles in a slaughterhouse, surrounded by dead pigs that were similarly strung up, and one of Archer’s goons was coming towards him with a cleaver in one hand and a meat hook in the other, and they weren’t for giving him a fancy haircut.

The big gorilla of a man looked like he was going to enjoy this way too much; a grin leaked its way onto his face as he got closer, and his eyes were bright and excited, like the chance to butcher Stan like a hog was the most exciting thing he’d gotten to do all day.

Archer was at his side, staring down at Stan. Unlike in books, his eyes weren’t at all unusually colored-just a normal light blue. The only thing that made them scary was the cold way in which they were staring at him, and the fact that they were in the face of a murderous psychopath who sold children for kicks.

“You know this is nothing personal, right, Pinowski?” he asked, pushing on Stan’s legs with two fingers and making him swing back and forth. “I like your moxie; really, I do. But it’s bad business if I don’t make an example of you, so no one else gets dumb ideas.”

“Yikes,” Stan muttered, feeling a little woozy from all the blood rushing to his head, “you always talk like you’re Edward G. Robinson or somethin’?”

Archer smiled thinly, and stepped back, giving a nod to the gorilla. He twirled the cleaver in his hand, clearly about to decide where to make the first cut.

By now, though, Stan had put the paperclip he’d kept tucked in his sleeve to good use, and as the gorilla stepped forward, he swung his newly freed fist, with the chains wrapped around his knuckles. It hurt, but it was worth it to knock the thug into Archer, sending them both sprawling to the floor like a couple of ninepins.

Stan instantly started wriggling, trying to pull himself up so he could pick the locks on his ankles. It was about as hard as it sounds, though, so instead he found himself swinging, his back slamming into one of the dead pigs behind him; he felt the line behind him starting to move, and it put him in mind of those weird things people kept in offices, those balls on strings where you pull on one end and when it smacks into its buddies the one at the other end moves-

Newton’s cradles, that’s what Ford said they were called.

Ugh, of all the times for him to remember his brother-

Stan barely managed to twist out of the way of the cleaver, which was swung with a vengeance at his neck; almost on reflex his hands flew up, grabbing the gorilla’s other wrist and trying to force it back. Even using all his strength, though, the meathook stubbornly pressed forward, digging into his stomach and pulling down in a jagged line. The only benefit to this was that it gave Stan, fighting through the agony, a chance to pound him with an unexpected fist in the gut.

It took a bit more effort, but through a series of near-miracles Stan managed to escape into the night with his life and a deep gash in his gut before the cops showed up.

**_End of flashback end of flashback end of flashback end of flashback_ **

* * *

“...I dunno if the kids got away or anything,” Stan finished, staring at the table again. “I...think I just passed out in my car for a few days, after I cleaned and stitched it up best I could. Somehow no one found me, and as soon as I could I got outta Dodge.”

“...You stitched it yourself?” Shermie asked, aghast.

“Didn’t think I could exactly go to a hospital,” Stan said. “They’d wanna know what happened. Besides, I couldn’t go  _ anywhere _ right then, I was hurtin’ so bad.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get some kind of severe organ damage!” Ford whispered.

“Yeah, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “My point is, if that was Archer I saw, he’s probably still gonna be mad that I screwed things up for him and then got away before he could finish makin’ an example of me.” He swallowed, hard. “Maybe I should leave. If he sees that you guys’re my family, you’ll be the first thing he comes after, so-”

“No.”

His brothers spoke at almost the same time; Stan gave them a very bewildered stare.

Shermie spoke next, firmly. “You’re not going anywhere, Stanley.”

“But Sherm-”

“We’re not letting you handle this yourself. End of story.”

And as scared as that made Stan, because of how much danger they were potentially putting themselves in...having his family standing by him right now made a warm feeling grow in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of my readers might think this bears some resemblance to a scene one of my older stories, "Twinpathy," it's...because it kind of does. But it doesn't count as plagiarism if it's my own work, right?
> 
> ...Right?


	6. Operation Lockdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: panic attack.

“Maybe we should call the police,” Rebecca said, standing in the doorway.

All three men jumped.

“You’ve been listening?” Stan asked.

“I’m the youngest of five children, Stanley-eavesdropping is one of my specialties.” She gave him a tiny smile, which quickly faded. “But seriously, if this man is a threat to you, then just call the cops and let them handle this. Even if he hasn’t done anything around here yet, it sounds like he’s bound to have some kind of criminal record that can justify them bringing him in.”

“But that might cause more problems.”

Of all people, it was  _ Ford _ who spoke up. The others stared at him like he’d grown extra fingers, but he went on talking, feeling his cheeks turning red at their scrutiny.

“Some of Stan’s cr-um, history on the streets might come out in court. He could get put in jail again.”

“ _ Again _ ?” Rebecca asked. Ford cursed inwardly, especially when he saw the crushed, fearful expression rising in Stan’s eyes at her shocked tone of voice.

_ Way to open your big mouth, moron. _

“N-not for anything big!” he said quickly.  _ I hope. _ “But Stanley could probably get in trouble for aiding and abetting, or something, even though he didn’t actually finish the job for Archer. If-if we were in Gravity Falls, maybe-the laws there are astonishingly lax in certain matters, it wouldn’t get us in as much trouble to talk to the police.”

_ And we also have several friends who we could have asked to deal with this monster permanently _ , a rebellious voice whispered in the back of his head; he only made a token effort to shut it up. “But here, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to get them involved unless we have no other choice.”

To his relief, Rebecca didn’t seem like she was about to throw Stan to the wolves because he’d turned out to be a jailbird. She just squeezed her hands together uncertainly, glancing back to the living room, where they could hear Xander playing with some toys and making explosion noises.

“So what do we do instead?” she asked. “Booby trap the house and wait for this creep to show up?”

Stan’s eyes brightened. “Not a bad idea!” Then his grin turned sheepish at the look she gave him. “Heh, kidding.”

Ford suddenly stood up, and began pacing around the back of the kitchen, trying to think. “We don’t know for sure that he saw Stan, or if he did that he was able to follow him here-”

“But it’s better ta be safe than sorry,” Stan interrupted.

“Precisely. So I suggest that for now, none of us leaves the house on our own, and we keep the doors and windows locked.” Then he flushed again, remembering that he was not the man of the house here.

But Shermie was nodding, and saying softly, “Sounds like a plan.”

Ford nodded too, gulping a few times. “Right. Good.”

Something in his head was starting to scream.

Stan frowned at him. “Poindexter, you okay-?”

Abruptly Ford fled the kitchen, hurrying upstairs.

The bathroom was small, and you could lock the door once you were inside.

Once he was inside and had turned the lock, Ford sank to the floor, wrapping one arm around his stomach and the other hand covering his mouth.

_ Stanley had nearly been killed by that man that man was here in Piedmont he might come for Stanley again he might try to kill all of us he might try to carve Stan open like a pig _

At some point Ford toppled onto his side, the cool linoleum pressed against his cheek and squishing his glasses into the side of his face. He barely even noticed.

It might have been years, it might have been forever, when he finally calmed down enough to sit up, and from there work on the process of standing. The strength had finally come back into his limbs, so it was easier for him to do this, but his arms still trembled a little as he braced himself on the counter and looked in the mirror.

Hurriedly Ford turned on the faucet and washed his face, splashing it with cold water and cleaning the areas around his eyes and nose and washing off his glasses. Once he dried off with the hand towel he still looked a little red and blotchy, but maybe it was less noticeable than it would have been otherwise. He wasn’t the one they needed to worry about right now, and he needed to come up with a plan to protect Stanley.

Who, speak of the devil, was sitting on the floor right outside the bathroom. He looked up when Ford exited, eyes appraising and questioning.

“I’m okay,” Ford whispered.

“For now, anyway?” Stan asked, reading between the lines as he stood.

“Yeah.”

Stan squeezed his shoulder, and gave him a small smile; annoyingly, the small act of affection was enough to make Ford’s eyes start stinging again, but he just did his best to swallow it down.

* * *

The rest of the day was filled with tension, all the way into the evening, as Ford once again helped Rebecca with dinner while Stan and Shermie tried to keep Xander occupied with books and games of  _ dreidel _ . Despite their best efforts, the little boy seemed to pick up on the adults’ mood, leading him to throw a few tantrums over seemingly minor slights, but other than that he mostly remained in blissful childish ignorance.

And then, once they’d eaten (Ford hadn’t had much of an appetite, and the others weren’t much better), Stan said, “Hey, I got an idea. How about tonight we all sleep in the living room? We can put together some mattresses and blankets, and it’ll be like a sleepover or something.”

Xander looked up at him curiously. “Is it cuz the first day of Hanukkah’s tomorrow?”

“...Yeah, exactly! It’ll be a Hanukkah sleepover!”

Xander’s eyes brightened. “That sounds awesome! Can we, dad? Pleeeeease?”

Shermie managed to smile back at his son. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”

Xander helped carry blankets and pillows downstairs, and once a few mattresses were laid out on the floor he helped drape the covers over them until they’d created a small, comfortable island. Rebecca and Xander were sandwiched in the middle of it, with Shermie holding onto both of them and the twins on either side of their little group.

Despite the tension, Shermie and Rebecca fell asleep almost immediately. Even Stan started snoring after about an hour; maybe he was just that used to the idea that people were out there who wanted to kill him.

But eventually Ford got up, and crept upstairs, where he pulled a familiar red book with a golden handprint and the number “1” on the cover out of his backpack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ford may not have gone through the portal in this dimension, but that doesn't mean he can't be a protective BAMF.


	7. Decking in the halls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want, you can imagine the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's version of "Carol of the Bells" playing during parts of this. It feels kind of appropriate.

_ Clink. _

It was a tiny sound, barely audible in the stillness of the night; just a small, muffled noise that was barely recognizable as glass breaking.

But it had Stan opening his eyes almost immediately... and sliding the brass knuckles he’d kept under his pillow onto one hand, while opening his knife with the other.

Slowly he slid out from under the covers, straining his ears as he got to his feet. Was there a creak of hinges that came after, or was he just imagining it because of how wound up he was?

_ Sounds like that came from the back door. Do I go there to investigate, or stay here and make sure nobody ambushes my family while they’re sleeping? _

If it had been just him, then it would have been easier, he wouldn’t have needed to worry about having to protect-

_ Wait a minute. Where’s Ford?! _

The makeshift bed contained a distinct absence of long-limbed nerd (unless you counted Shermie, but he didn’t fit the description well enough as far as Stan was concerned).

Horrifying possibilities flitted into his head: Archer or one of his goons could’ve already broken in and seen Ford first, and thought he was Stan so they grabbed him and somehow took him without waking anyone else up; he could have gotten up to investigate on his own and got captured, and maybe even now they were-

_ Chill out! You literally cannot afford to panic right now if you want your family to get out of this alive. _

Then, to his relief, Shermie was awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What is it?” he whispered, looking up at Stan.

“I think I heard something,” Stan whispered back. Then, decision made, he handed him the switchblade. “Just in case anyone tries comin’ through the front.”

And before Shermie could answer he crept into the hallway.

* * *

Stan moved into the kitchen, glad that the windows were letting in a few squares of light so he could see that...the room was empty.

On the one hand, if there were intruders, they hadn’t come in here: good.

On the other hand, there was still a significant absence of Ford: bad.

_ Maybe he’s upstairs. _

Was it worth checking? Shermie was awake and armed now, and if they’d decided to go upstairs and found his twin-not that Ford couldn’t handle himself if push came to shove, but old instincts died hard-

A dark form was suddenly looming in the kitchen doorway, and lunging towards him; something long and metallic-looking flashed in its hand.

Stan didn’t think twice before snatching one of the chairs away from the table and bringing it down on the figure’s head.

_ So much for tryna be stealthy. _

_...Oh crap, I really hope that wasn’t Ford. _

But to his relief, when he pulled the now prone figure into one of the pools of light, he saw that it was a totally different man: bulkier than Ford  _ or _ Shermie, wearing a thick black turtleneck. With a large wrench in his hand, just the right size for smashing onto someone’s head.

Stan glared, and snatched it up.

_ Finders keepers, loser. _

And then, just as he was straightening up again, he felt something cold and metal press into the side of his skull.

It was only made worse by the fact that this new guy-another of Archer’s thugs, Stan was guessing-didn’t start monologuing like any self-respecting comic book villain would have done when they had someone at gunpoint, or even say something along the lines of “Archer’s been looking for you for a long time, Pinowski.” He just stood there quietly and waited for Stan to straighten and turn to face him.

Once that was done he moved his hand, gesturing towards the hallway.

_ Of course. Archer doesn’t want me dead just yet. He’s probably either gonna try ta take me somewhere else now and finish the job like he tried to last time...or he wants ta threaten my family first, make me beg for their lives before he kills them anyway. _

_...Screw that. _

Stan, in a move that would have had police officers (and his mother) tearing their hair out and lecturing him for a good half-hour on his recklessness, suddenly jerked to the side and grabbed the goon’s wrist, pushing it down and twisting the gun. Something in the other man’s trigger finger cracked, and he screamed as Stan yanked the gun out of his hand, before landing a blow to his jaw that collapsed him right next to his buddy.

Once he was sure he was out for the count, Stan stepped out into the hallway, his new gun drawn-

And there was Archer.

He had a few new scars along his nose and forehead, and his hair had grown out a little; other than that he hadn’t changed much.

There was yet another generic thug standing behind him, also with a gun in hand.

_ Sheesh, you’d think I was the first guy ever ta stop him from selling kids. Unless he gives this kinda treatment ta everyone who p_sses him off. _

For a moment they just stood there, staring at each other...before Stan smiled crookedly and waved with his free hand.

“How’s it hangin’?”

Archer’s own smile was pretty thin and mirthless. “I was sure you were here.”

Stan aimed at the jerk’s chest. “Well, you found me. And now you’re gonna leave.”

Archer raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

The generic thug lifted his gun, pointing it...over Stan’s shoulder.

He glanced behind him (even though he knew how dangerous it was to take his eyes off his target), and let out a small curse of frustration. Because there was Shermie, standing behind him in plain sight  _ like an idiot _ when he should have been hiding in the living room where he’d be safe with his family for a little longer, why had he thought this was a good idea-

_ He was probably coming to see if you needed help _ , a voice in Stan’s head whispered, and he groaned, lowering the gun in defeat and then dropping it to the ground.

Archer nodded his approval. “Good boy. Now come here.”

Stan only had time to take one step forward-before a voice sounded from the top of the stairs.

“ _ Don’t touch him _ .”

As you might have guessed, it was Ford. Standing there, with a lit candle (where did he even get that?) placed on the banister next to him, a small bell in one hand, and his journal open in the other.

“What the [ **CENSORED** ]-” Archer began to say.

Ford just talked over him. Or, more specifically, he began to chant, while ringing the bell.

“ _ Mutare, mutare, _

_ Lusus naturae, _

_ Facti quod tu es, _

_ Facti quod tu es, _

_ FACTI QUOD TU ES! _ ”

Then he slammed the journal shut, and some  _ incredibly _ crazy crap happened.

* * *

Specifically, Archer and the thug, and, judging by the flash in the kitchen, the two other jerks, were all suddenly surrounded by an angry-looking red light. It enveloped them entirely, and then...they began to disappear.

Or maybe shrink, since their clothes were still in place, and they just seemed to be disappearing into them, kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West.

There was some screaming, but it didn’t last very long. Until finally, all that was left were two lumpy piles of clothes.

Ford slowly descended the stairs, carrying the candle now, and looked over at Stan.

“You all right?”

Stan nodded slowly, eyes feeling a little wide. “Um, Poindexter...what did you just do?”

“Let’s see.”

And on that cryptic note he went over to the pile of clothes that used to be Archer, and began digging through it-until at last he lifted out...a baby.

A somewhat chubby, disoriented-looking baby, not exactly newborn but probably not more than a few weeks old, who on being exposed to the air began to kick and scream.

“...You turned them into babies?” Stan asked over the noise, staring in disbelief at what he was realizing had to be Archer regressed into an infant or whatever the term was.

“Not precisely. The spell was to turn them into whatever they are at their basic essence. I suppose this can be interpreted as saying that at heart, Archer-” Ford’s lip curled at the name- “was a spoiled child used to getting whatever he wanted, perhaps.” He finally registered that he was holding a naked infant in his arms, and set him down in the pile of clothes, blushing.

Curious, Stan went to the other pile of clothes-which had begun moving on its own, and shaking, until a dark-furred puppy stuck its head out. It looked up at him and whined.

Stan gave Ford a disbelieving stare; he looked equally nonplussed, but finally said, “A loyal dog, I guess?”

Stan snorted...but decided not to argue the point. He guessed it made a kind of sense, at least to magic.

“Wonder what the other two mooks were.” Stan gestured to the kitchen.

Ford peered in-and a second later pulled his head back out in a disgusted grimace.

“...They turned into a weasel and a rat, respectively.”

“That makes sense.” Stan was disconcerted to realize that the puppy had wandered over to him and was now attempting to climb into his lap. He made a few futile attempts to shove it off, until he admitted defeat and started petting it, deciding not to think too much about the fact that a few minutes ago this had been a person who was attempting to shoot his brother.

“And weasels are known to be occasional predators of rats.”

“Oh, eugh.” Stan made a face similar to his twin’s as he realized what he was saying. “How bad’s the mess?”

“The weasel’s about halfway finished with his meal.” There was a ripping sound from inside. Stan decided he was happier not seeing it.

Then he half-turned, still with the puppy in his lap...and saw the expressions on the faces of Shermie and Rebecca and Xander, who were all standing in the living room doorway and gaping at them.

Stan gulped.

“...Um...I guess we should probably explain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Okay, technically most of the decking took place in the kitchen. But it was close enough, okay?
> 
> This explanation should be fun for everyone.


	8. Hava Nagila

The family sat around the kitchen table (Xander had to curl up on his mother’s lap, since one of the chairs had been smashed; Stan said he could pay for it, but neither Shermie nor Rebecca really seemed to hear him) as Stan and Ford did their best to explain in a way that wouldn’t freak them out more.

“...So let me get this straight,” Shermie said at last. “Gravity Falls is full of magic and monsters and stuff-”

“And maybe aliens; Ford thinks he found a crash site,” Stan added (not) helpfully.

“-and you guys have been studying them, and learning about things like-like spells that can change people into-that.” He pointed to the baby formerly known as Archer, who had been set in Xander’s old carrier on the floor nearby (Rebecca had even bothered to put him in a cloth diaper and a onesie), and the puppy who was sitting on Stan’s lap and playfully gnawing his fingers (the weasel had long been shooed outside, and the remains of his dinner properly disposed of).

Ford nodded. “...Well, I’ve been doing most of the actual research, but that’s basically the facts, yes.”

Xander’s eyes were wide with awe. “You guys are like  _ wizards _ .” He climbed off Rebecca’s lap; before she could grab him back he scurried over to Stan and began petting the puppy, who wagged his tail and tried to climb into his arms.

Stan smiled. “Yeah, I guess we kinda are. Or at least Ford is; I’m just the guy who tricks ‘em into giving me money.”

The boy shrugged. “Same thing.”

“This is...definitely not what we were expecting,” Shermie said at last. “It’s...kind of a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, we know,” Ford admitted. “That’s why we didn’t tell you at first. We didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Too late,” their brother said dryly. But at least he seemed to have calmed down a little.

The three of them looked to Rebecca, who had been silent all this time. Her eyes were large and troubled, and her hands were nervously twisting together inside her sleeves.

At last she spoke, in tones that were sharp and clipped.

“The mother in me partly wants to accuse you of being reckless, dangerous men who are tampering with forces you don’t understand and demand that you stay the h_ll away from my child.”

Ford hadn’t been expecting how much that would hurt; it was a little like a sucker punch to the gut. Judging from Stan’s expression, it was just as bad for him: his mouth hung limply open for a second or two, before it widened like he was about to start protesting.

“On the other hand,” Rebecca cut him off, “she does recognize that you used those forces to save his life-to save all our lives. So-” she got up, and enveloped first Stan and then Ford in a warm, genuine hug, touching it up with a light kiss on the cheek- “thank you.”

Stan reddened, and let out a relieved-sounding laugh. “Eh, it was all Ford. I just got in a few lucky punches.”

* * *

**Next day**

“ _Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b-mitzvotav, v-tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah_ ,” Shermie sang as he lit the first candle of the menorah. The rest of the family watched, enjoying the surprisingly cheerful glow. Even Stan, who was more than a little cynical towards the whole concept of religion, was smiling softly from his spot on the sofa.

Much to Ford’s relief, Rebecca’s overprotective mother side had not resurfaced with the light of day. Instead, she asked him more questions about beard cubs, and scampfires, and fairies (apparently many of her childhood fantasies had involved them, with the same fervor that other girls applied to unicorns), and her previous uneasiness about this side of the world being revealed to her seemed to dissipate as she learned more about them. She marveled over Ford’s illustrations in his (nearly full) journal, and said with a laugh that Gravity Falls sounded like his dream come true, since he was so attracted to the weird things in life.

“You have no idea,” he told her solemnly, which for some reason made her laugh again.

They ended up putting Archer in a basket purchased from the store, which was then dropped off at the local police station with only a warm blanket and the note “Please take care of my baby” included; Ford suspected his memories were probably rewound along with his body, so perhaps this would be a chance for him to have a fresh start at life.

The puppy, however, was another matter altogether. Xander had quickly latched on to him as his new best friend, despite Rebecca’s admonishments, and in no time at all they were tussling with Stan on the living room floor like it was meant to be.

“... ‘Tis the season?” Shermie said sheepishly when she gave him a look asking him to put a stop to this. “Lots of kids get puppies during Christmastime. Besides, can you really say no to that face?” He indicated their son, who was laughing and squirming in a futile effort to stop the puppy’s enthusiastic licking of his chin.

“And do you know how many of those puppies get sent back or abandoned because the kids decide they’re too much of a responsibility to handle? Besides, last night that puppy was a human being with a gun!”

“And now he’s a friendly dog who likes our son.”

She grumbled...but it was clear she’d lost the fight. And when the puppy tilted his head and looked up at her with big, innocent brown eyes, she grudgingly admitted that he was pretty cute, and went back to making potato latkes.

* * *

By the time Filbrick and Caryn Pines arrived at Shermie’s house, a few weeks later, there was no indication that their other children had ever been there-save for a package that Caryn was secretly handed by Shermie while Filbrick was upstairs putting the luggage in their room. It contained a packet of fancy-looking tarot cards, with a note:  _ To: my favorite psychic. From: your favorite son. _

Caryn smiled, a little tearily, and hid the packet in her purse before Filbrick came back, complaining that there was a dog on their bed, and when exactly had they decided to get a dog?

* * *

About an hour away, a bright red car pulled up in front of a small house. Stan leaned over and tapped Ford on the knee.

“We’re here, nerd. Wakey wakey.”

Ford groggily blinked his eyes open, and sat up-and froze when he realized that they were not, in fact, in Gravity Falls.

“Stanley, this isn’t home-”

The front door opened, and a head wearing a pair of round spectacles peered out in confusion. The eyes behind them widened.

“Stanford Pines, is that you?!” And the lanky man came strolling down the walk towards the car.

Stan grinned at his brother’s expression, which was somewhere between surprise, exasperation, and maybe just a tiny amount of happiness that he was trying his hardest to suppress.

“Stanley, I told you I didn’t want to-”

Fiddleford crouched down on Ford’s side of the car-then he saw Stan, and did a double-take.

“What the heck-?! You got a twin and you never told me?!”

“...It’s a long story, Fiddleford.”

“Well, Emma May and I love a good story-come on in!”

“I-you’re probably busy celebrating, I don’t-”

“It’s no trouble, really!”

Stan’s grin widened.

“Merry Christmas, Sixer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford is naturally fascinated-and saddened-by Stan and Ford's tragic backstory, but glad to hear that they've become friends again. He's also interested to hear about all the things Ford's been studying in Gravity Falls, and like Shermie, says he'll have to bring his family up to visit sometime. He and Ford lose hours talking about nerd stuff, while Stan makes awkward small talk with a heavily pregnant Emma-May and tries not to snarf all the delicious Christmas cookies.
> 
> Despite Ford's protests about not wanting to impose, they're persuaded to stay for Christmas, and they get to hear Christmas carols Tennessee hog farmer style (hint: there is a lot of banjo playing involved).
> 
> And all in all, it's an enjoyable holiday for the boys.


End file.
